a closeness you can't fake (a permanent truth)
by the general girl
Summary: There is something familiar about Marinette Dupain-Cheng.


the memory of you emerges from the night around me.

[...]

you swallowed everything, like distance.

like the sea, like time. in you everything sank!

-pablo neruda, _the song of despair_

* * *

Maman, where are you going?

 _His mother pauses at the door, turning back and kneeling in front of Adrien with a bright smile on her face._

Adrien, maman is going out for a walk, _her hand tips his chin up gently, the skin of her palm cool and smooth._ Be good for your father, mon amour.

 _She rises, and then the front door is swinging shut on her grace and sunshine and a beautiful May day._

—

—

Later, he takes comfort in the fact that her last word to him had been _love_.

—

—

In the maelstrom of light and magic, Chat Noir struggles to hold onto the color of Ladybug's eyes. The wind whips at their joined hands until it finally splits them apart with a vicious twist. The magic tearing their kwami from them is too strong: the job is done, so Ladybug and Chat Noir would be no more. The sound of Adrien's frustration is lost to the roar of the fading vortex of magic.

Right before they lose sight and memory of each other, Adrien catches the shape of Ladybug's last gift to him, each soundless word a kiss.

 _je t'aime,_

 _mon_ _coer,  
_

 _mon_

 _amour,_

 _love,_

 _love_

 _love love love love love_

—

—

Adrien decides to fight the magic; he would never forget.

—

—

He forgets.

—

—

Adrien lays in the middle of the sidewalk, a torn bag of groceries by his feet. Seven ripe lemons roll and scent the air.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—Adrien Agreste?"

He notices the searing blue of her eyes before anything else. The sun casts the rest of her face in shadow, but he dreams for a second of a familiar curve of the lip; of an exasperated smile.

Adrien blinks, and the thought dissolves and reforms in the shape of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Dazed, he looks for far longer than he should have, and Marinette drops to her heels in front of him, rolls of fabric awkwardly hanging across one shoulder.

"Adrien? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah. Hi, Marinette! Long time no see."

Marinette cocks her head, and too late he remembers that he's still flat on his ass in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Do you need a hand?"

"Is it attached to you?"

Marinette blinks, and then surprised laughter bursts from her. It's not a mean laugh, and Adrien feels his face warm pleasantly at the sound.

"Luckily enough, it is." Still smiling, she gathers her things and straightens, offering her hand. Taking it, he starts at the familiarity of the motion. She moves, he follows; it is practiced and effortless.

"Thanks, Marinette."

"Of course, anything for an old friend."

They stand in the middle of the sidewalk, and Adrien can't quite bring himself to walk away. Marinette Dupain-Cheng looks at him with her bright blue eyes, and there's an expectancy between them that he struggles to understand. He clears his throat, desperately searching for something to say, when Marinette's phone pings; she glances at the screen and bites back a curse.

"Well, sorry for literally running into you. Hopefully I'll see you around?" She smiles at him one last time before she's hurrying away, tapping out a message on her phone.

Adrien clenches his hand, and wonders why it feels like an opportunity lost.

—

—

 _Hawk Moth is defeated at the end of April, and his name is never released. There will never be a trial anyways; the authorities decide that it's for the best._

 _Two days later, on the first of May, a doctor declares Gabriel Agreste's time of death. His funeral is restricted to family—there is only Adrien left, and he barely remembers putting on the black suit or the drive to the cemetery. There is shock; there is anger; there is shame. There isn't room left for much else._

 _Later, when he has some presence of mind again, he will volunteer all of his father's assets to the city to be used as reparations for the akumatized victims, keeping only the small trust his mother had left behind for him. He will systematically break_ Gabriel _down to its parts and sell it for pennies on the dollar. There will be nothing left of his father's legacy, Adrien thinks, except for himself._

 _Adrien lays flowers at the feet of the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue in the park across the street, and gives his silent thanks._

—

—

Running into Marinette reminds Adrien of things that he'd worked very hard to forget. The last attack, and waking up in the middle of the magically repaired Parisian street in front of his house, dazed but with a sickening lurch in his stomach. The fear that an akuma had turned him into one of their mindless pawns. The fear that _he'd_ been akumatized. Everything had ached, and when he'd stood, every muscle screaming in protest, there'd been someone else there.

Marinette, standing on the corner a block away from him, expression too far away for him to read. The police had swarmed the street then, EMT workers and officers closing in on him in a suffocating huddle. Then they'd given him the news, and there'd been no room for anything else in his world.

He'd forgotten those few seconds over the years, but now the moment returns to him in full force, and he _dreams_ —

He dreams that he'd been close enough to see Marinette Dupain-Cheng's face after all. Adrien dreams of heartache in blue, and when he jerks awake there is a hole so viscerally empty inside of him that he has to stop himself from gorging on breakfast from the memory of it.

He wishes...He wishes—

—

—

Hey man, how are you doing? _Nino slides into the empty booth across from him, headphones for once conspicuously absent._

Getting better, _he answers honestly._

I know I've said it before, but I'm sorry about your _père_. You guys had your problems, but he was still your dad, you know?

 _Adrien swallows, tries to keep the bile from rising,_ Yeah, I know. Thanks, Nino, but I'm really...fine. As fine as I can be right now. Let's just eat, okay?

 _When their food arrives, Adrien can only pick at his. He hates lying to Nino, but—the look of shock and disgust—the betrayal—that would be sure to appear on his best friend's face if Adrien tells him about Gabriel?_

 _He hates the thought of that so much more._

 _Adrien spends the rest of lunch wishing that he could be braver, that he could have been better. That he would have been enough._

—

—

One day, as he's taking a back alley on his way to class, Adrien decides to look up. There's no explanation for why he should, but he tips his head up, up, and up, and without surprise finds Marinette leaning over the small balcony two stories above him, surrounded by potted plants.

She doesn't seem to have seen him—her head is pillowed on her forearms and she has her face tilted towards the narrow strip of sky between the buildings—but Adrien recognizes the unhappiness in the hunch of her shoulders. He knows she shouldn't feel so familiar, because even while he'd seen Marinette every single day in collège , they'd never been close. But she does, and the act of recognition sends a sharp prickle down his spine.

It feels wrong.

Something is wrong.

Swallowing uneasily, Adrien hurriedly makes his way through the rest of the alley, leaving Marinette and his lightheadedness behind. Somehow, even though the idea of it fills him with dread, Adrien feels the pull of that spot (the girl) for the rest of the day.

It's the ache at his temples and an itch he can't scratch. Adrien struggles through his lectures and begs off when his friends invite him to coffee.

He goes back.

Marinette is gone, and so are the plants. Instead, there is a stranger pinning shirts to a clothesline.

Adrien takes one look, and he vomits all over the alley floor.

—

—

Adrien doesn't see Marinette again for a long time. He's sure of it; he knows from social media that she has been away for a show in Nice for the past month, but he swears he keeps catching glimpses of her around Paris. A tiny park in an arrondissement he usually never visits; at the table next to his in a cafe; in the next car on the metro—

(And more inexplicably:

A glimpse of red beside him on the tiny rooftop garden of his apartment; a flash of blue beside him as he walks alone in the early morning light.)

—

—

I'm Adrien Agreste.

Hawk Moth is my father.

 _Ladybug's face is inscrutable. Even with her mask, he is usually adept at picking apart her expressions from the set of her mouth and the tilt of her brows. Now, where he'd expected to see horror, disgust, anger-any number of things-there is nothing._

 _Chat Noir waits, and hell could have erupted under his feet and he wouldn't have moved._

Adrien.

 _Her smile is a bullet of warmth. It hits him just shy of his heart, and ricochets wildly in his chest._

Adrien, _she says again, the sound a whisper of love between them._ Kitten, did you think I didn't know?

 _She takes his hand and presses it to her heart, drawing him close, telling him that it'd never mattered; that it's all going to be ok._

It's not your fault.

 _He dies, he melts, he reforms in her embrace._

—

—

"Nino!"

"Do mine eyes deceive me? Is that really Adrien Agreste?"

Adrien grins, clasping arms with the other man. He'd been heading home from tutoring underclassmen when he realized he'd be passing Nino's recording studio.

"Yeah, I was close and I thought we could catch up if M. Hotshot isn't too busy. "

"How the tables have turned. You're in luck though, my schedule's cleared and I'm all yours."

The two friends fall into a comfortable rhythm as they head towards their usual haunt: a rundown pool hall that served amazing pub food at the bar.

Adrien looks up as he finishes telling Nino about his least favorite professor's most recent fuckup to see the other man staring at him inquisitively, "What?"

"You know what. You almost never pop by without checking with me first. What's up?"

The blond shifts uncomfortably, "I saw Marinette a while ago."

"Oh yeah? How is she?"

"She..She looks good. Do you two still keep in touch?"

"I bump into her from time to time. Alya brings her when we chill sometimes."

Nino's expression doesn't change, but Adrien blanches, "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring her up."

Nino shrugs, and Adrien can see there's no anger on his face. They come to a crossing a few blocks away from the pool hall, and the two men pause as they wait for the light to turn. It takes Nino a moment before he speaks again.

"Nah man, we're cool now—you should come next time, it'd be nice. So...why so curious about Marinette?"

Their destination in sight, it's Adrien's turn to shrug, "I just...I don't know. Maybe it's seeing her for the first time in so long? There's just something about her…"

Nino's grin is just on the right side of lascivious, " _Oho_ , so you finally caught the Marinette bug too? Sort of a late bloomer, aren't you?"

"I suppose," Adrien says, and he leaves it at that.

—

—

I have nothing left, _Gabriel Agreste says._

 _Looking down into his father's face, Adrien knows that he means it. He averts his eyes. He stares at the purple of his father's suit, at the patches where it's stained dark and wet. In his head, he counts all the places on his body that feels bloodied and bruised. Anything to distract from the grief of his father; anything to distract from the ache in his heart._

You're wrong, _Ladybug—Marinette—says quietly._

She was my whole world, and you're a child! How could you possibly understand—

You're wrong. _Louder this time, but still unable to drown out Gabriel's growing fervor—_

He took her from me—he could never—the moment he refused to hand me his Miraculous—

 _The sharp crack of Marinette's hand meeting Gabriel's face is obscene in the hushed quiet of the observatory._

He. Is. Your. Son.

 _A pause:_

I have no son.

 _Adrien can't help it, he looks up then, but the scene is blurred. He realizes he's crying. He wishes distantly that he is somewhere far away._

 _He is eight, and his mother is once again walking out the door._

I'll love him enough for the both of us, _Marinette says fiercely, and Adrien feels her taking his hand. An anchor; a lifeline._

 _She reaches down. She tears the brooch from Gabriel's chest._

—

—

Marinette passes by in front of him, and Adrien's not sure sure if she's real or a dream. She had colored his world red with want, and he feels sick with fever every time he thinks he sees her.

Maybe-Marinette reaches out, and her hand touches his shoulder.

"Adrien?"

Dazed at the contact—at the sound of her voice—he murmurs his greeting, asking when she'd come back to Paris.

"I just got in yesterday," she pauses, studying the blond with a cocked head. "Are you ok?"

"I—" he stops, "This is starting to sound familiar, isn't it?"

Marinette's voice is light, but the look in her narrowed eyes don't fade, "Well, who knew you'd grow up to be the spacy klutz."

She steps around him and heads up the stone steps of the building they're standing by, "Well this is me—actually, were you waiting for...?"

It barely takes him by surprise, that he'd ended up where she would be even though he hadn't...he is sure he's never been here before—

"What? No, I was just passing by, I'm on my way to class."

"Well, hopefully the next time we bump into each other it'll be on purpose. See you around, Adrien!" With a bright smile and a little wave, Marinette disappears behind her door.

—

—

 _Marinette is bent over her portfolio, scribbling madly, when he lands on her tiny balcony. She looks up the second his feet touches the concrete, brows furrowed in surprise._

Kitty?

 _Adrien gives his best attempt at a smile, undoing the trick latch she'd installed months ago for him on autopilot._

Sorry, I know I shouldn't drop in like this but I was j-just—

 _An involuntary yawn cuts him off_

—too tired tonight.

 _He stumbles in and sinks into the soft rug at her feet, every bone in his body turning liquid as she leans over him and ruffles his hair with soft fingers._

 _She laughs as he lazily butts her hand for more._ You really are tired, aren't you? I guess it's fine if nobody saw. You can stay.

 _She settles back into her chair, and Adrien closes his eyes in contentment._

 _He knows he should have gone home instead; he should have at the very least released his transformation first, but:_

 _The occasional warmth of Marinette's hand. The scratch of her pencil on paper. The shape of her shadow thrown on the opposite wall—_

 _Adrien has never felt so safe—he wouldn't give these Wednesday nights up for anything, no matter how exhausted he is or what he'll face when he goes home._

Je t'aime, _he mumbles without thinking. A moment later he instantly freezes, bracing himself for Marinette's usual stinging denial._

 _But there's nothing, and the silence lapses into something so soft and fragile that Adrien begins to let himself hope…_

 _He looks up, and the small smile curving Marinette's lips stuns him, cripples him, rips his heart out of his chest and offers him something far better in return—_

—

—

"You again."

" _You_ again," Adrien doesn't have to look up to know who it is. At this point, he expects her, just as he expects the tilt of her head and that one side of her grin will be higher than the other.

"I think the universe is trying to tell us something," Marinette says as she settles into the seat across from him.

"Are you sure you aren't just stalking me?"

To Adrien's surprise, Marinette blushes, "You're not a supermodel anymore, M. Agreste. If I was stalking anybody I'd much rather stalk Nino."

Still distracted by her flushed cheeks, Adrien only manages a goofy face in response.

Marinette eyes the empty espresso cup and the textbooks piled in front of him, "Exam season, huh? What did you say you were studying for your _licene_?"

Leaning back in his chair, Adrien exaggeratedly squints at the girl across from him, "Can you guess?"

Marinette tilts her head, chin propped on a fist as she studies him. She'd scooted forward as he leaned back, and every time Adrien thinks her damn eyes couldn't get any bluer he's dismayed to find out he's wrong.

"I think most people would expect you to go into business or something fashion related, but that's definitely not it, is it?"

She's wearing her hair up again, and as Adrien watches, three strands slip out of the loose knot and fall softly to frame the curve of her jaw.

He pretends to not notice. He pretends his fingers don't itch.

"Engineering? Chemistry? Physics?"

Adrien waggles his eyebrows, and says nothing, glad for the distraction.

Her face blooms into a grin as her gaze lands on his books.

"...astrophysics!"

"It's cheating if you were looking at my books!"

"You're just mad that I figured it out!"

Adrien manages to look miffed for a total of three seconds before he's smiling helplessly at Marinette, "Okay, Detective Dupain-Cheng, I'll give you this one."

" _Give_ —as if!" But she's still grinning, and the back and forth is so easy that when Marinette pushes her chair back to leave Adrien's immediately disappointed.

"I'm actually running really late, I just came for a to-go order..."she trails off apologetically. "But don't worry, you can try to stump me again next time."

Marinette ruffles his hair as she passes by, the gesture easy, and the way he presses his head into her touch is the same way. Once again, the familiarity jolts him, enough so that Adrien bolts up from his chair, eyes wide, "Wait! Um, do you want to exchange numbers? I'd like to be prepared for… for next time."

He's sure that his face is on fire, but Marinette's expression of naked delight when he hands her his phone is more than worth it.

—

—

 **06 xx xx xx xx:** This is Marinette!

—

—

 _A month has passed since Chat Noir discovered Hawk Moth's identity; a month has passed since Adrien Agreste has discovered that his father is the one terrorizing Paris._

 _It'd pained Marinette—it'd pained them both—but in the expectant, hush-filled moment that'd followed Chat's confession, she'd said nothing. She'd wanted to—she'd wanted to so badly that she'd bit her cheek until she drew blood, but Tikki's reprimand in the weeks since she'd begun to suspect, since she'd begun to recognize someone familiar in Chat, had held her back._

 _Now though—_

I think he's close to figuring me out. He's—he's always around. He was at breakfast today, he's never at breakfast, and he just—he kept staring at my ring. What if he takes it? What if he steals it—

 _Ladybug involuntarily clutches Chat closer, trying to ease her partner's pain with gentle hands. He crowds into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, and even though she knows neither of them can be comfortable, even though she can feel her legs falling asleep underneath her and even though she knows they only have so much time before her transformation gives out, Marinette just holds Adrien tighter._

 _She murmurs soft nonsense into his ear, rubbing soothing circles along his back. Adrien trembles, almost imperceptibly at first and then more violently, until his whole body is shaking with sobs. When she feels the hot wetness against her neck, through the suit, Ladybug makes a decision._

I'm Marinette.

 _Adrien freezes in her embrace, and Marinette ignores the angry buzzing of her earrings._

I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If he—if he ever touches you, if you ever need somewhere to go or even if he steals your Miraculous, I won't let him hurt you, Adrien. I won't.

 _A moment later, the familiar pink light washes over them both._

—

—

Adrien stares at his phone for so long that his eyes begin to cross. It's been close to thirty minutes, at this point he's pretty sure the cursor is mocking him.

 _Hi_ _H_ | _Hey Marinette!_

He could...He could just say hello, right?

 _Hey Marinette! What's happe_ |

Adrien grits his teeth, falling backwards onto his bed. His phone lands with a _whumph_ next to him. He doesn't know why this is so hard; Marinette's an old friend, and he's an adult. Adults occasionally message their old friends to catch up.

 _Hey Marinette! W_ |

It'd been so easy in person. He doesn't know why this is tripping him up.

 _Hey Marinette! Do you want to_ |

His phone suddenly vibrates, and Adrien nearly drops it on his face.

 **Marinette:** _i can see those little dots_

 **Marinette:** _are you having a stroke? should i send help?_

Adrien is glad that no one is around to witness his full body blush or hear the decidedly squeaky sound he'd made.

 **Marinette:** _if you're still alive, coffee tomorrow?_

Well, he thinks, at least that takes care of that.

—

—

They try to meet for lunch three times, but Marinette's apprenticeship and Adrien's own class schedule makes it nearly impossible to plan anything. Finally, Marinette tells Adrien to share his location with her on his phone, leaving him with a cryptic text about surprises.

And then one day, someone taps him on the shoulder as he's walking out of his last class, and it's Marinette with a paper bag slick with oil in one hand and a steaming latte in the other.

"Found you."

—

—

 _Chat is sprawled on the roof of the delicatessen four streets from his house, trying to find stars in the sky. The night is chilly, but Adrien remembers his mother telling him that winters were always better for stargazing. Also, he simply hadn't wanted to go home._

Found you.

—

—

Adrien blinks owlishly at her.

"Come on, what are you waiting for? I want to eat these beignets while they're still warm."

Marinette doesn't wait for Adrien to gather his wits, instead turning and slipping into the throng of students.

Shrugging, he's helpless to do anything but follow. Something tells him that this is how it's going to be from here on out.

—

—

M'lady, how'd you find me?

 _Ladybug drops down to her knees next to him, settling until she's sitting cross-legged and his head nudges her thigh._ _She flips open her compact and tilts the screen towards him, displaying the glowing green dot._

 _Chat opens his mouth to make some quip or another, but his voice fails him. He's too thankful to have her company to say much of anything at all._

Here, I brought you something warm.

 _Ladybug slips a small backpack that he hadn't noticed from her shoulder, and then something soft is draping over him. Chat's still staring at the throw in surprise when a thermos appears above his nose._

Hot cocoa.

—

—

It's a short five minute walk to the Luxembourg Gardens, and they end up sitting together on a bench, the coffee and food spread between them.

It's easier to be honest when Adrien has something to occupy himself with besides the blue of her eyes, and he keeps his on his beignet when he says, "I didn't think you'd actually track me down."

Marinette sounds amused, "I had a break in my day and I thought I'd give it a shot. Look." She hands him her phone, and Adrien smiles to see the twin dots showing their location right next to each other.

"Here, have some of the coffee before it gets cold."

Her casual concern fills him with more warmth than the coffee, and he means it when he thanks her.

"Thanks, Marinette."

"Well, what are friends for?"

—

—

 _The drink, the blanket, the fact that she's here at all—_

 _Mortified, Chat blinks back tears. There'd been no reason for her to be in uniform today, Marinette would have had to find time to slip away and transform, all so she could check on him—_

Hey, kitty? _A warm hand settles on his arm, and Chat realizes he'd been shaking._

I meant it when I said I'm here for you, no matter what.

Right. Partners.

No, _Marinette smiles,_ friends.

—

—

They make a game of finding each other, and she's everywhere, all the time, only now it's _real_. They try all the eateries and cafes around Adrien's university, comparing notes and making snobby critiques of the worst chains. Adrien brings Marinette coffee and snacks and drags her out to dinner when he notices how late she sometimes stays at her studio, and Marinette keeps him company while he crams for his exams.

It's a friendship.

She becomes one of his closest friends in a frighteningly short amount of time.

It would have been perfect, except—

"What do we have there?" Marinette props her chin on his shoulder, peering at the textbook he's bent over. A tendril of dark hair tickles his cheek, and Adrien smiles as the faint scent of peonies drift over him.

"Excuse you, some of us are trying t-to—" he's unable to cut off his yawn, and Marinette walks in front of him, holding his head in both hands and staring critically at his face.

"You've definitely seen better days."

Adrien resolutely pretends he doesn't notice how close she is, or how pretty she looks with her pink slicked mouth in a little moue.

Instead, he looks away, one hand nervously pushing his hair back from his forehead and the other rubbing at his dark circles, "It's final exams. Like I was _trying_ to say—"

Marinette doesn't fall for it, "Alya's at university as well. I _know_ final exams aren't for another month."

Sighing, Adrien gives up under her unrelenting stare, "I've just been having trouble sleeping. Bad dreams."

Marinette shakes her head but does not comment, looping an arm through his and pulling him away from the shop they'd agreed to meet by.

"I thought we were going to your friend's exhibit…?"

"The exhibit will be around for another week. Tonight, we're staying in."

She leads him in silence down two more blocks and into the metro, and even though it's long past rush hour and the trains are mostly empty, Marinette doesn't complain when he automatically sags against her when they sit.

The dreams have been relentless.

Dreams of the rush of wind in his ears, of flying, of the kind of joy that comes from being so much more than you ever thought you could be; an uncomplicated, wild joy—the sort that obliterates.

Dreams of a red that spoke of wanting, of love.

The one Adrien had had last night had been almost ordinary in comparison; he'd been watching the sun set over the Seine, worry gnawing at his chest. He knew he shouldn't have gone, but he would have moved heaven and earth for a chance to be with her like this. To just sit and listen to her quiet chatter, and have her warmth at his side. The low ebb and flow of her voice had lulled his dream-self into a stupor, and as his head had slowly sank onto her shoulder Adrien had jolted awake in his bed, his pounding heart a stark contrast to the quiet moment in his head.

 _Her her her her her—_

 _Who?_

Sitting next to Marinette on the metro, her warmth at his side—

 _Her warmth at his side—_

 _Her familiar—_

"Adrien! Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Dazed, Adrien moans, blindly turning his head into the cool palm on his cheek. Marinette's concerned face fills his field of vision, and the pain is so intense that Adrien can't find it in himself to feel awkward or embarrassed.

"Hold on, we're almost to the stop—do you need me to call the conductor?"

He shakes his head, and even that tiny movement brings his migraine to a crescendo, "N-no. Just give me a minute, I don't want to bother anyone on the train…"

Going by the set of Marinette's mouth, Adrien knows she isn't going to listen to him, so he grits his teeth and pulls himself to his feet. The rest of the train car is mercifully empty, and he realizes all the other commuters must have left.

"See? All fine."

Marinette's expression doesn't change, but the train grinds to a halt and the conductor's garbled voice announces that they've arrived at their stop. She tugs his arm over her shoulder without comment, and together they exit the station, both pretending that Adrien isn't shaking with the effort to remain upright.

He can feel the tense line of Marinette's shoulder under his arm, and he hates that he's making her worry. He wishes that he wasn't such a burden, he wishes—

—

—

I'm sorry. I should have noticed it sooner, I should have—

 _Ladybug shakes her head fiercely,_ He's your father, how could you have suspected him of something like this?

He's possessed almost every single one of _my friends_ , they're just kids, and they could have died. _I should have known_.

 _Chat feels as if he's choking on the guilt, remembering the terrified faces of his classmates once the akuma had been cleansed and they'd realized what they'd done. His father—his father is a monster, and they'd been living in the same house; they share the same blood._

Adrien, breathe. Look at me— _look at me_ , and breathe, okay?

 _He clings to her voice—clings, and breathes, and pretends there is nothing else beyond the two of them._

—

—

Adrien opens his eyes.

He is safe; he is warm; he is home.

He blinks, and the thoughts fade. The room he's in is unfamiliar, and with a groan, he raises his head to take a better look around him.

"How are you feeling?" Marinette asks, and he realizes that she's sitting in an armchair across from him. Behind her, he can see a bed, piled high with a rumpled white duvet and too many pillows, pushed up against the large window.

"Is this your apartment?"

"Don't you remember?" Adrien tries to shake his head, and it's just about as helpful as it was earlier.

"We walked here, and then as soon as you got close to the couch you just fell onto it. Maybe we should go see a doctor after all; how hard have you been pushing yourself?" She's already reaching for her phone, but Adrien stops her.

Marinette stares at his hand, large enough to encircle the entirety of her wrist, her entire body frozen in the movement. Adrien immediately begins to let go, an apology half-voiced, when her fingers catch his, slotting their hands neatly together.

Neither of them is the type of person to shy away from physical affection, but in all the time Adrien's known Marinette—even in light of their new, easy friendship—there has never been a gesture so deliberately intimate. They've sat pressed shoulder to thigh on crowded park benches; she has caught him in big, full body hugs after he passed hard exams; he has thought nothing of slinging a casual arm around her shoulder from time to time. But this:

Her hand feels impossibly small in his, the bones dainty and fine; he'd call her delicate if he didn't know her, if he couldn't feel the callouses on her thumb from her long nights of work, if he hadn't had the privilege of learning and relearning her strength again and again over the years.

"Just sit with me," he says.

She does.

—

—

"I've been having these nightmares," Adrien rubs a hand over his face, the remnants of dinner scattered on the coffee table between them.

"About?"

"Different things. My father."

He takes a deep breath:

"Hawk Moth is—was—Gabriel Agreste."

Marinette freezes, but only for a second. She gives her food another nonchalant, prod, "Oh?"

The innocuous sound is almost enough to make Adrien laugh, but the old fears—that Marinette would blame him, that she would agree with his assessment that he should have noticed, that he could have done something—rises and threatens the dinner that he's just eaten.

Adrien smiles nervously,"Yes, _oh_. He wanted the miraculous to bring my mother back. I know it isn't my fault, but sometimes I still wonder…"

He'd dropped his head and closed his eyes while he was speaking, and the sudden dip in the couch next to him catches Adrien by surprise.

Marinette tips his face up, hands gentle, eyes determined, "I don't blame you. Nobody would."

Adrien looks away, "I know, but...I've been having these dreams. Flashes of _maman_ , before she left. And then of him as—as Hawk Moth."

Marinette drops her hand, but she doesn't move away. He feels her eyes on him, and swallowing, continues.

"Sometimes I forget that any of it ever happened. It seems like such a long time ago...But I don't deserve to forget."

She's shaking her head before he'd even finished, and she leans closer, pulls both of his hands into hers. He'd only held her hand for the first time an hour ago, but it feels so natural now—to have their hands on each other. To offer support this way.

"Adrien, it's _not your fault_ —

—

—

When he'd seen Marinette everywhere—in impossible places, at impossible times—something had always felt strange, like everything had shifted an inch to the left but nobody had bothered to tell him. Her hair had been in pigtails. Her cheeks had been softer. Sitting here beside her, it hits him: she'd looked younger.  
Not drastically younger, but young like the hazy period of time between collège and university. Young in a way that hadn't made sense—

—

—

He takes a deep breath, has to fight the sudden urge to vomit. It takes him back to months ago, to that day in the alley.

"Adrien, do you hear me?" Marinette's expression transforms the sentiment—repeated so often by therapists, by well meaning friends, sometimes even by strangers—into more than a simple platitude. He doesn't know if he can believe her, but Adrien nods, trembling, fighting the urge to—

Marinette pulls him close, and he gives into the gravity of the moment, lets himself fall into her warmth.

—

—

"Are you and Marinette together?"

"W-what?" Adrien quickly looks away from the woman in question, currently caught in an animated conversation with Alya. The four had finally found the time to meet for dinner and were headed to drinks at Marinette's favorite wine bar.

Nino nudges him, "Come on man, don't pretend that you guys aren't way closer than you were a few months ago."

"Well yeah, but we're just friends."

"Right, remember when you first asked me about her, Mr. Lovebug?"

Adrien flushes, and both men look up when a peal of laughter erupts from the girls. Marinette is laughing uproariously at something Alya has said, and her hair slips out of its loose bun to spill down her back in a silken mass. She flicks her bangs out of her eyes, and Adrien stops in the middle of the sidewalk.

The fading sunset paints Marinette in red, and the shape of her as she raises her arms to pull her hair back—from the slope of her shoulder to the exposed curve of her neck—is more than familiar. Adrien feels like a small child that is seeing the Eiffel in person for the first time, or the Mona Lisa, after having only been shown grainy photos his entire life.

He has seen Marinette put her hair up a million times, but this angle, the fire and the shadows and the way she is turned away from him—

"Earth to Adrien!"

Nino elbows him, hard, and snickers at Adrien's embarrassed flush, "Like I said."

—

—

Adrien lays spread-eagle on Marinette's bed, trying to forget another bad day and its associated nightmares.

"Did you know that I've never been akumatized?"

He turns his head to where Marinette is working at the table; she doesn't look up from her laptop, but her eyes are unmoving and Adrien knows she isn't reading whatever is on the screen.

He finally replies, "I don't remember you ever having been, but I wasn't sure…"

"Well, I wasn't. And I used to feel guilty for it too."

She looks at him, "I don't anymore."

"Thank you," Adrien says after a long moment.

Marinette smiles at him, and he drifts off to the occasional sound of her pencil moving across paper and the soft clack of keys.

—

—

The mansion is gone, a series of terraced row houses built in its place. There is nothing familiar about the tidy, red bricked apartments, and Adrien can almost pretend that he'd never lived here at all.

Marinette hooks her pinky around his and gives a gentle tug, "You okay?"

"Yeah, let's go." Hands still linked, they walk towards the lights of the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

—

—

Sabine and Tom are as warm and welcoming as Adrien remembers, and by the time dinner is finished they manage to send him off with not one but two bags of leftovers.

"Your parents are the best," Adrien sighs contentedly. Marinette hums in affirmation, and they walk down the block together in companionable silence.

The daylight is entirely gone, and as they pass the park Adrien can see the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue, illuminated by lights in the middle of the square.

"Wait—let's cut through there."

Marinette nods in assent, and soon they find themselves staring up at the faces of the heroes of Paris.

"Are you ever angry at them?"

Adrien shakes his head, "How could I be? They saved so many people, and my father made his choices with his eyes wide open."

Looking at Ladybug's bronze likeness, Adrien thinks that she must have been kind. That she would have tried to offer a hand.

"Sometimes, I wish I knew who she was so I could thank her."

"Hey! I'm sure Chat Noir did his part too."

Adrien shoves Marinette playfully with a shoulder, "Sounds like someone's got a crush and a weakness for bad puns."

"The only person I had a crush on back then was you, you dork!" she laughs.

Adrien turns to stare at her, mouth agape, "Me? Really?"

"Really," she says, and Adrien is pretty sure he isn't imagining the blush on her cheeks. "How could I not? Do you remember the first day of collège ? You gave me your umbrella even though I'd been nothing but a brat to you all day."

Her blush deepens, and Adrien watches, transfixed, as Marinette bites her lip and then barrels on, "You were so good. You always had a smile and a nice word for everyone even with how busy and famous you were, and everything else that was going on at home."

Adrien is stunned into silence. Marinette's hands are clenched, her nerves obvious, but not once does she look away from him. He distantly thinks that this kind of bravery is so typical of Marinette. Typical and wonderful, like everything else about her.

He swallows, trying to find the right words, trying to find the right way to explain how she makes him feel: like he is new, without having to give up who he had been; like he could both be the Adrien who had loved his father more than anything, and be utterly glad that he's gone at the same time, but he is overwhelmed by Marinette. Overwhelmed, as he has been time and again, by her heart, and her warmth. By the way she illuminates everyone around her with her light, and her ability to see the same in others.

"Marinette, I'm so glad—," his voice cracks, "I'm so glad that we ran into each other. Father, even _maman_ thought I wasn't worth loving—"

Marinette shakes her head fiercely, "It doesn't matter what Gabriel Agreste thought—you were a better son than he ever deserved, and I—I'll love you enough for the both of us."

 _I'll love you enough for the both of us—_

 _Marinette reaches down. She tears the brooch from his father's chest._

 _Love—_

 _Love_

 _love love love love love_

 _mon_ _amour,_

 _mon_

 _coer,_

 _Je t'aime_

 _Marinette—_

 _Marinette laughing so hard that the edges of her mask crinkle against the tops of her cheeks—_

 _Marinette looking down at him, offering a hand, the sun a halo behind her head—_

 _Marinette smiling at him, fond and exasperated, their city laid out below her—_

 _Marinette, holding him, telling him that no matter what, she would protect him—_

—

—

A long time ago, when they were newly partners and still learning each other, Chat had joked to Ladybug that they must be soulmates. _Made for each other_ , he'd said, and she'd sighed and rolled her eyes and moved on. It was only partly a joke, because deep down, Adrien wanted to believe that here was a person who would never leave him. Here was someone that would stay and love him because it was destiny.

And it's true. Marinette and Adrien are soulmates. Soulmates not because it'd been preordained, but because they have forged the bond themselves, through blood and sweat and tears, through _us against the world_.

Soulmates, and it means more than it ever would have if it'd been merely destiny or fate.

What is destiny compared to the way Marinette had looked his father in the eye and told him that no, she would love Adrien? What is fate compared to the press of her hand on the nape of his neck as she'd held him close?

What is the magic of the miraculous compared to the magic of the way that he knows her? Bone deep, from how she puts her hair up to that way she has of looking at him over her shoulder. Bone deep, and rooted in his heart.

He remembers how the pink light had washed him in warmth the first time she'd let her transformation fall in front of him. Opening his eyes now, there is only the glow of the street lamps, but he feels that warmth all the same, feels it like _love love love_ resonating through every bone of his body, and _god—_

Marinette and Adrien stare at each other. She's crying, her eyes wide, a trembling fist pressed to her mouth.

"Ladybug," he murmurs, awed.

"Chaton," she says wetly, and it feels like a welcome home.

They move towards each other like it's the most familiar thing in the world.

—

—

 **fin**


End file.
